


you, standing in the doorway

by Quintessence



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Celebrity Crush, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, heavy on the pining y'all, like so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessence/pseuds/Quintessence
Summary: "There are some things Victor can pass off as the whims of the creative mind.  Uprooting his career and his entire life and moving halfway across the world because he’s fallen in love with a baker he saw a brief documentary on is not one of them."In which Yuuri owns a very popular bakery, Victor is a world renowned tattoo artist, and they're somehow both each other's celebrity crushes.





	you, standing in the doorway

**Author's Note:**

> hello all!! i’m taking a break from my bnha writing endeavors bc i binged all of yoi in a day & fell passionately in love. this one is shaping up to be pretty lengthy, so i’m glad you’re all along for the ride!
> 
> this fic is dedicated to p, whose friendship i treasure more than words and who listened with truly remarkable enthusiasm to me gushing about my ideas for this story. thanks for being you.
> 
> title is from “going to georgia” by the mountain goats. the full line is “the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway / is that it’s you / and that you’re standing in the doorway” and goddamn if that isn’t the most romantic thing i’ve ever heard
> 
> no planned update schedule, but i work as fast as i can!! hope you enjoy!!

_celebwatch.net_

_Victor Nikiforov Spotted at Japanese Train Station_

_Internationally renowned Russian tattoo artist, Victor Nikiforov, was spotted at, of all places, a train station in the small Japanese town of Hasetsu late Sunday night.  Our source claims that Nikiforov was carrying two large suitcases when he hailed a cab sometime around eleven p.m. outside Hasetsu Station. The town is known for its hot springs, so perhaps Nikiforov is taking a relaxing vacation after several months spent hard at work in his St. Petersburg studio._

_For further updates on the story, please subscribe to alerts on Victor Nikiforov from celebwatch.net_

Early morning at Agape Bakery is one of Katsuki Yuuri’s favorite times—the sunlight streaming in through the large dining area windows, the gleaming, freshly washed display case, the methodical ease with which he begins beating eggs and sifting flour to prepare for their noon opening.  It’s one of the few moments when everything in Yuuri quiets, when he doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to worry, when he’s entirely at peace. He’s humming to himself softly, some generic pop song he heard on the radio the other day, and gently bobbing his head to the beat as he folds in the dry ingredients.  Yuuri loves the bakery when it’s bustling with people, friends sharing good food and making jokes over large, hot cups of coffee, but early mornings in the empty shop are something special.

“Yuuri, you’re not gonna fucking believe this!”

Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri’s sous-chef and closest friend, throws opens the swinging doors to the kitchen, a thrilled gleam in his eyes.

So much for his peaceful morning.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, not fully turning his attention away from the bowl he’s mixing.  Phichit is enthusiastic by nature; it’s entirely possible he’s simply eager to show Yuuri a photograph of a cute dog he spotted on the way into work.

“Have you checked social media this morning?” he demands.

“Not yet, no.”

“So you haven’t heard?  It’s all anyone in town is talking about.”

“Phichit, please just tell me what’s going on,” Yuuri sighs.  “I’ve gotta get this sponge cake in the oven.”

A mildly manic grin splits Phichit’s face and he leans forward almost conspiratorially.

“Your boyfriend’s showed up in town,” he stage whispers.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.  I don’t have a—”

Yuuri stops dead, realization dawning upon him.  Some feeling floods his stomach, but he’s unsure if it’s excitement or stark terror.

“No,” he whispers.  “You can’t possibly mean…”

Phichit laughs triumphantly.

“Read it and weep,” he declares, shoving his phone into Yuuri’s hand.

The news article is short and provides nearly no context, but the fact remains—Victor Nikiforov has arrived in Hasetsu.  Yuuri stands frozen, heart racing and hands trembling. Victor Nikiforov, improbably, unexpectedly, and with absolutely no prior warning, is in Yuuri’s town.

Some people have a favorite celebrity.  Some people have celebrity crushes. Yuuri’s love for Victor Nikiforov is of a completely different intensity.

It had started when Yuuri was fourteen, idly flipping through the magazine rack at the grocery store as his mother checked out.  A disarmingly beautiful man, with silver-blond hair and the most shockingly blue eyes Yuuri had ever seen, graced the cover of a pop culture magazine, with the title “At Just Eighteen, Victor Nikiforov is the Hottest New Artist on the Tattoo Scene.”

At the time, Yuuri had had next to no interest in tattoos, but he was a teenage boy subject to the whims of his hormones, so the sultry, barely-there smirk on the man’s face had drawn him in.  His mother was taking a while to check out, some issue with a coupon holding her up, so Yuuri had began reading the article to kill time.

It was the average profiling interview one would expect in a pop culture magazine, asking about Victor’s inspiration, his technique, his background.  Pretty standard. But one line had jumped out to Yuuri.

_What first drew you to art?_

_It really started as something therapeutic.  When I was a child, whenever I felt upset or scared or lonely, I’d begin to draw.  It didn’t matter that I wasn’t any good. As long as my hands were moving, my mind wasn’t._

Yuuri had stared, mouth agape, at the page.  He used almost the exact same line when describing why he loved to bake.  “It calms me down,” he always said. “When my hands are moving, my mind is still.”

And here were his own words, reflected back nearly verbatim, in a magazine. He felt, immediately and unshakably, that Victor Nikiforov understood him, on a deep, primal level.  They were kindred spirits; he was sure of it.

(And, if he was being totally honest, the fact that Victor was possibly the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever laid eyes on certainly didn’t hurt.)

He had bought the magazine with the 500 yen coin he had fished from the depths of his pockets and read the entire interview on the way home.  With every line, he fell more and more deeply in love with Victor Nikiforov.

And thus the obsession had begun.  He followed all of Victor’s social media, read every article or interview he’d ever given, scoured EBay for magazines featuring Victor that he couldn’t find in Japan.  The passion never waned, like so many youthful infatuations. To this day, Yuuri adores Victor with everything he is.

“Earth to Yuuri?  Come in, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks up slowly from the phone in his hand.  Phichit is still smiling.

“Oh my God,” Yuuri whispers.

“Yup.”

He’s still for another moment before an invisible switch seems to flip.

“Did we sweep the dining area last night?  Do we have enough espresso? Oh God, there’s flour in my hair, isn’t there?  What happened to that matcha macaron recipe we were going to make? Have you checked—”

“Yuuri,” Phichit interrupts, placing a steadying hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.  “Breathe. It’s gonna be fine. First, we don’t even know if he’s going to come to Agape, so let’s not panic.  Second, you’re amazing. Your boyish charm and unbelievable culinary skills could win the heart of any man. So let’s just prep for opening, stay calm, and see what happens.  Okay?”

Yuuri nods a little jerkily.

“Atta boy!” Phichit says, giving Yuuri’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

 _Stay calm and see what happens,_ Yuuri repeats in his head like a mantra.   _Stay calm and see what happens._

* * *

 

It’s a small mercy that Yuuri hears the news about Victor when he’s in the kitchen, because having an extensive list of things to bake is probably the only thing that keeps him from full-blown panic.  True, his hands are trembling as he pipes frosting and he drops a cup of sugar on the floor, sending the granules scattering to every corner of the kitchen, but the familiar recipes calm him nonetheless.

At a quarter to twelve, they’ve set up everything in the case, lined the loaves of fresh bread behind the counter, and wiped down all the tables in the dining area twice.  Minami Kenjirou, their main cashier and barista, has tied on his apron and is beginning to measure espresso, humming brightly as he does so.

As soon as they turn on the neon sign proclaiming them to be open and unlock the doors, the steady stream of patrons begins trickling in.  There are the high school students taking advantage of their off-campus lunch to pick up something sweet, the harried mothers wrangling their children and ordering the largest cup of coffee Agape offers, the office workers taking their laptops to the bakery for a change of scenery as they pore over spreadsheets.  The amount of customers will no doubt pick up later in the afternoon and evening when work and school get out, but there’s no shortage of people to help. Yuuri certainly isn’t one to brag, but the bakery is unquestionably one of the most popular spots in town.

Yuuri bounces between the front of shop and the kitchen, alternately helping Minami make drinks or fetch pastries and then hurrying back to aid Phichit in making another batch of whichever treat is selling out the fastest.  Today it’s cream puffs. The bakery is so busy and full of warm chatter that Yuuri almost forgets about Victor being in Hatestu.

Which, of course, makes his arrival at the bakery shortly past one a complete shock.

The bell above the door jingles brightly and Minami calls out his usual “Hi, welcome to Agape Bakery!”  Yuuri thinks nothing of it; it’s simply another patron to serve. He stands up from putting a new tray of salted caramel brownies in the case and glances towards the door, eager to help their customer.

It’s a good thing Yuuri has just set down the tray of brownies, or he would’ve dropped them.

It’s Victor Nikiforov.

Victor Nikiforov is closing the door behind him.  Victor Nikiforov is approaching the counter. Victor Nikiforov is fishing in his pockets for his wallet.

If one were to add it all together, Yuuri has probably spent hours looking at pictures of Victor.  He knows the exact color of his eyes, the side on which he usually parts his hair, the tattoos covering his arms.  And somehow, none of it prepares him for seeing the real thing.

Victor is tall, easily several inches taller than Yuuri, with a broad chest and strong arms.  His black t-shirt is just on this side of too tight, stretching ever so slightly in a way that makes Yuuri’s stomach do a funny sort of flip.  Yuuri is familiar with Victor’s unfairly exquisite bone structure and the piercing turquoise of his eyes, but seeing them in person nearly makes him weak in the knees.  Yuuri wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s somehow even more gorgeous as his photographs would suggest.

The bakery is suddenly far, far too warm and Yuuri can feel the sweat beginning to accumulate on his forehead and palms.  For a brief moment, he debates dashing back into the kitchen, perhaps claiming some cookies are burning, but it’s too late.  Victor’s arrived at the counter and he’s smiled at Yuuri, that same coy smirk from the magazine cover that had so enticed him nine years ago.  Yuuri might be sick.

“Hi,” Minami says brightly, clearly entirely oblivious to who Victor is and Yuuri’s slow but certain demise behind him.  “How are you?”

“I’m sorry,” Victor begins, his voice low and smooth and beautifully accented.  “Do you know English?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Minami chirps, switching effortlessly.  “Not a local, then?”

“I just arrived last night, actually,” Victor says.  “I was told this bakery is one of the most popular spots in town, so I just had to come.”

Yuuri knows he’s staring absolutely shamelessly, but Victor Nikiforov is standing in his shop.  Victor Nikiforov heard good things about Agape. It’s like his nine years of daydreams are all coming true.

“Well then welcome!  How are you liking the town so far?”

Normally, Yuuri thinks Minami’s ability to chat with anyone, from toddlers to grandmothers, is one of the best skills a barista could have.  Now, he’s tempted to slap a hand over his mouth and tell him to hurry it up so Victor will leave and Yuuri can go scream into a bag of flour in the kitchen in peace.

“It’s absolutely charming.  And everyone’s been so friendly.”

“Glad to hear it!  If you need restaurant recommendations or anything, you just let me know.”

“Of course.”

Victor’s smiles fully now, and it’s downright dazzling.

“So, what can I get for you today?”

Victor places a long, elegant finger to his chin and examines the case for a moment.

“Well, what would the owner recommend?” he asks, looking to Yuuri.

_Oh God, he knows who I am.  He knows I’m the owner. He’s speaking to me.  Oh my God._

“Um.” Yuuri’s voice comes out high and scratchy, so he clears his throat and tries again.  “You can try our chocolate daifuku. It’s one of our best sellers.”

He’s proud that his voice only shakes a little.

“Excellent,” Victor practically purrs.  “I’ll take one of those and a large cappuccino.”

Minami, still entirely oblivious to Yuuri’s panic, rings him up and procures the daifuku cheerfully as Yuuri, with trembling hands, makes his drink.  Despite trying to ignore Victor’s presence entirely, Yuuri can’t help peeking out of the corner of his eye. Victor is leaning with one hand braced on the drink pick-up counter, the other holding the daifuku.  Yuuri tries to turn his attention back to steaming the milk, but Victor addresses him.

“Yuuri,” Victor says around a mouthful of sweets, “this is absolutely _divine._ ”

Victor knows Yuuri’s name.  Victor called his baking “divine.”  It is the best and most agonizing day of Yuuri’s life.

“I’m Victor, by the way.  Victor Nikiforov,” Victor says, extending the hand not holding the daifuku.

Yuuri hopes his palm isn’t too sweaty as he slowly reaches out to shake Victor’s hand.  They touch for only the briefest of moments, but Victor’s hand is warm and strong and slightly rough and it sends a chill down Yuuri’s back.  When he pulls back, it’s as if he can still feel Victor’s hand in his own.

“I, uh, I know who you are,” Yuuri says hoarsely, and it may be the largest understatement of his life.

“Oh, you do?” Victor exclaims with absolute delight.  “Wow!”

It’s said with such surprise, as if Victor isn’t an international celebrity.

“I know who you are as well,” Victor continues.  “Katsuki Yuuri. I saw the BBC video on you.”

“Really?” Yuuri asks, unable to keep the disbelief out of his tone.  That BBC video had been released online a few months back. It was only about ten minutes long, profiling Yuuri and Agape.  At twenty-three, he was pretty young to be owning a bakery, especially one that had garnered as much buzz and acclaim as Agape, so he’d attracted a small amount of media attention.  Everyone in town had adored the video, their own Yuuri profiled by such an enormous news corporation, but Yuuri didn’t think it had become very popular outside of Hasetsu, and even less so outside of Japan.

“I just loved the video,” Victor says, tone earnest.  “You seemed so incredibly passionate about what you do.  It really was inspiring.”

Yuuri feels his face flush violently.  Victor doesn’t just know who Yuuri is; he found him _inspiring._ Yuuri really needs to sit down.

“Here’s your drink,” Yuuri manages in lieu of an actual response.

“Thanks, Yuuri.”  There Victor is, saying Yuuri’s name again.  “See you around!”

By the time Yuuri can think to respond, Victor’s already gone.

Yuuri really does scream into a bag of flour in the kitchen.

* * *

 

Victor’s been called fearless many times in his life.  He’s always been willing to take any dare, attempt any challenge, or approach any obstacle.  Some people think it reckless, the way he charges headfirst into any situation without a second thought, but most people admire it.

The truth is, however, that while he’s often fearless in the moment, his anxiety inevitably catches up with him after the fact.  So while he had flirted shamelessly with Katsuki Yuuri in the bakery, the doubt starts creeping when he’s just a few steps outside the door.

It was probably really creepy to mention that BBC video, right?  He should’ve just acted like he didn’t know who Yuuri was. And “divine?”  Really? Who talks like that?

Yuuri had clearly seemed uncomfortable, hadn’t he?  He hadn’t reciprocated Victor’s advances at all. He’d seemed very stiff throughout the entire encounter.  And Christ, Victor flirting like that when he didn’t even know if Yuuri liked men? What was he thinking?

Victor scrubs his free hand over his face and groans.  At least the coffee is excellent, and the daifuku really had been extraordinary.

And, all things considered, the exchange could’ve gone much worse.  Victor could’ve revealed why he really came to Hasetsu in the first place.  

There are some things Victor can pass off as the whims of the creative mind. Uprooting his career and his entire life and moving halfway across the world because he’s fallen in love with a baker he saw a brief documentary on is not one of them.

That isn’t entirely fair, though.  The truth is slightly more complicated than that.

A few months ago, Victor had reached a creative stagnation of sorts.  Technically speaking, his tattoos were still excellent—his line work was clean and his color even.  But the passion, the spark, that had breathed life into his work was almost extinguished. It was as if he were simply going through the motions.  His customers were always thrilled with their pieces, but in his heart, Victor knew his work wasn’t his best.

And then, late one night, he’d stumbled across a ten minute video about a baker in a town he’d never heard of—Katsuki Yuuri of Hatestu, Japan—and he’d been changed.

The video itself was stunning.  The audio was mixed beautifully so that the sounds of Yuuri working were crisp and lovely, the bakery itself was beautiful, open and airy and bright, and the sweets Yuuri had made looked gorgeous.  But it was Yuuri himself that had really drawn Victor in.

Yuuri was somewhat shy and nervous, which was downright charming.  Having attended one of the best culinary schools in the country and opened a wildly successful and universally acclaimed bakery all before the age of twenty-four, one would expect him to be a bit cocky.  Confident, at the very least. But Yuuri was incredibly humble and a bit skittish, constantly crediting his parents and employees and simple luck for his success. As someone who regularly worked with celebrities, Victor found that sort of humility unbelievably refreshing.

When pressed, however, forced not to defer to some outside force, Yuuri had confessed what he thought made his business so successful.

“I just try to put love into everything I make,” he’d said softly, not quite looking into the camera.

And against that, Victor was utterly defenseless.

Love.  That’s what was missing from his work, wasn’t it?  And Katsuki Yuuri seemed to have it in abundance. So it only took a few more steps for Victor to conclude that he needed to move his business to Hasetsu and meet Yuuri and his creative problems would all be resolved.  So, despite his friends telling him he was out of his mind, he’d packed up everything, and he and his assistant, Yurio Plisetsky, had moved to Japan.

And he had potentially ruined it all by coming on too strong to Yuuri in the bakery today.  Victor groans again.

Still, Victor is not someone who gives up easily.  If Yuuri asks to be left alone, Victor will unquestionably oblige, but perhaps it was simply Yuuri’s natural nervousness coming through, not an outright dislike of Victor himself.  He had seemed somewhat shy in that video, hadn’t he? Maybe in a day or two Victor will return to the bakery. He certainly has time to kill as his studio is set up. And he can try again, perhaps taking a subtler approach.

After unpacking several boxes of essentials, taking his poodle, Makkachin, for a walk, and fixing a quick dinner, Victor spends the rest of the evening sketching.

He finds all he can draw are large, dark eyes behind glasses.

**Author's Note:**

> fwiw, the working title of this fic in my google drive & on tumblr has been “born to bake history” & you’re welcome for changing it.
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading!! comments are not expected but always treasured & i reply to each one!! also you can come holler at me abt yoi & other weeb shit on [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/)
> 
> hoping to have more out soon!! xo


End file.
